There was only one church in Westmere, positioned near the town's border.
Unlike independent religious institutions, the church here operated under noble oversight. Its members were financially supported by the immediate senior noble of the town they resided in.
For instance, in a Baron's territory, the Viscount provided their salaries, handled their grievances, and reviewed their quarterly reports. These reports detailed the well-being of the people, security matters, and overall town amenities—yet their accuracy depended entirely on the church's relationship with the ruling noble.
Some reports were brutally honest. Others were heavily biased.
This was precisely why nobles like Aston maintained a cordial relationship with the church. A negative report to the Viscount could bring more than just a reprimand—it could lead to reduced funding, loss of privileges, or worse.
'It's like we've stepped into an entirely different place…' Arthur mused as he crossed the threshold into the church's compound.
The contrast between the church's wealth and the town's struggles was staggering.
Flanking the stone pathway were flourishing flower gardens, well-pruned trees, and a pristine fish pond. At the center of the path stood a grand fountain—one that could easily feed a middle-class family for an entire month.
Clearly, the church was untouched by the hardships plaguing the rest of the town.
And their wealth didn't just come from the Viscount's allowances. They charged exorbitant fees for their services.
Take today's blessing ceremony, for example. Arthur had overheard his parents discussing the cost—two hundred gold coins.
Two hundred.
For context, a single gold coin could feed a person three full meals a day, including lodging at a modest inn.
'Corruption is rotting this world to the core…' His expression darkened, his fists unconsciously clenching.
Virelle, noticing the shift in his mood, glanced at him with concern.
"Something wrong, baby?" she asked gently.
Arthur exhaled sharply before muttering, "If they can afford luxuries like fountains and ponds, why don't they donate some of that money to the poor?" His voice nearly carried a curse at the end.
Aston and Virelle exchanged glances, their steps slowing for a brief moment.
Fortunately, they weren't inside the church yet.
Aston then turned to Arthur and said in a measured tone, "Art, don't say such things around them, alright? I know it doesn't make sense now, but when you grow up, you'll understand."
Arthur knew his father was only trying to avoid unnecessary trouble with the church, sugarcoating the reality to keep the peace. Still, he didn't want to cause more problems for the Baron, so he simply nodded.
"I apologize." He gave a soft bow.
Aston smiled, ruffling Arthur's hair. "It's okay. Now, let's go."
With that, he took Arthur's hand and led their family inside the church.
The interior was vast, its design grander than one might expect for a town of this size. Wooden benches lined both sides of the gallery, while along the walls stood the sculptures of six Gods—three on each side.
But what truly caught Arthur's eye was the statue above the podium.
A veiled goddess.
Even without her name being spoken, he recognized her instantly. The same being who had once come to him, requesting that Clarsen be reborn.
The Goddess of Fate and Fortune.
[My liege.]
Lily's voice echoed with reverence.
Arthur sighed inwardly. It was expected.
The devotees of the Gods, especially those like Lily, had a tendency to become… mildly fanatical after a certain period.
On the podium stood a handful of figures.
Two priests, two nuns, and the head priest.
All of them wore warm smiles as the head priest, a man with white curly hair, stepped forward. He extended his hand with an easy familiarity. "Happy to have you, Aston." Their handshake carried the weight of mutual respect, the air between them calm and welcoming.
Arthur took in his surroundings, his sharp gaze flicking from one detail to the next. A door led deeper into the church, its dark wood polished smooth from years of use. To the left of the podium stood a confession booth, its latticed window barely revealing the shadows within.
Then his eyes settled on a particular priest—the one who had come to heal him. The same priest who had taken his mother's necklace as payment.
Arthur's gaze hardened.
"Hmm?" Sensing the weight of his stare, the priest turned his way and raised a hand in a casual wave.
Arthur narrowed his eyes, just slightly, but it was enough. The priest stiffened, his smile faltering for the briefest moment before Arthur looked away.
"Whoa… so beautiful…" Kevin murmured in awe, his eyes drinking in the intricate sculptures carved into the walls. The flickering candlelight made them seem almost alive.
Virelle stood quietly beside her husband, her gentle smile never fading as she listened to the exchange.
The head priest's voice carried once more, his tone light yet firm. "So, where is the devotee?" He stepped forward, his robes shifting with the movement. Then the elderly man crouched down until they were at eye level.
His gaze was kind but searching.
"Tell me, little Art," he said with a knowing smile, "which God do you wish to receive a blessing from?"
Arthur wanted to speak his mind—to let them know exactly how he felt. But for his family's sake, he simply said, "Any God who finds me worthy."
The words left his lips with neither excitement nor hesitation.
The head priest, Bowman, blinked in surprise. Most children who came for a blessing did so with enthusiasm, eagerly choosing their patron deity. Yet, standing before him was a boy who seemed utterly indifferent, as if this was just another task to be completed.
For a moment, Bowman hesitated, unsure how to respond. Then, with quiet understanding, he reached out and gave Arthur's shoulder a soft pat before rising to his feet.
"You have a blessed child, Aston," he said with a knowing smile. "I can see it in his eyes. He will become a remarkable warrior one day."
Aston glanced at his wife, his excitement barely contained. "I really hope so, Father Bowman."
Bowman nodded, then turned back toward the podium, gesturing toward the two nuns.
They approached Arthur with gentle smiles. "Come with us, Art. We'll prepare you for the ritual."
Virelle placed a comforting hand on his back. "Go on, sweetie."
Arthur didn't resist. He allowed them to take his hands and guide him deeper into the church. The walls seemed to close in, the air growing cooler as they led him through a series of hallways before stopping in a small chamber.
There, they changed his clothes, dressing him in a loose white robe. The fabric was soft but unfamiliar, draping over him like a symbol of something he didn't quite believe in.
Arthur let out a quiet sigh. 'They didn't do anything like this back in the day…'
Back then, a person awakened their mana core and received a blessing at the same time—no ceremonies, no rituals, no pleading to the heavens.
If you were worthy, you got it.
If you weren't… well, you became just another criminal wielding power you didn't deserve.
Arthur was guided back to the main church, his eyes scanning the room. His family stood together, their faces lit up with proud, beaming smiles.
'At least try to hide that excitement…' he thought, unable to suppress a quiet chuckle.
There was something shiny and golden near the podium. It resembled an old footrest, like the kind Kings of the past might have used. He couldn't quite make sense of it, but before he could ponder more, Bowman's voice broke through.
"Sit on it, Art."
Arthur barely kept his sigh in check before sitting down, his arms resting on his knees, the soft fabric of the robe feeling foreign against his skin.
Bowman approached him with an air of calm authority. He gestured toward the priest standing behind Arthur.
"Wha..."
Before Arthur could finish his question, cold water began pouring down on him from above. His body stiffened in surprise as Bowman, with gentle force, pressed a hand to Arthur's head. His voice began a prayer, quiet and steady, resonating in the cool silence of the church.
Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes inwardly. He swallowed the urge to complain and decided to play along.
He closed his eyes, the chill of the water soaking into him as Bowman's prayer continued. The words were soft, though they felt almost empty to Arthur—like a ritual with no real meaning.
Then, just as quickly as it began, the water stopped. Bowman's voice faded, and everything fell into a strange, complete stillness.
Arthur opened his eyes.
He wasn't in the church anymore. He wasn't anywhere familiar.
He stood in an endless white expanse, his feet floating as if there was no ground beneath him. Yet, somehow, he wasn't falling.
He scanned the space, his gaze settling on seven individuals surrounded by brilliant, radiant light. The seven deities, the supposed regulators of world order.
Arthur smirked, a cynical grin twisting his lips.
"Sup, failures?"
*********
A/N:- Please add the book to your collections since it's the only wayto support a book at this stage.